The Arrival
by Miss Scarlett
Summary: Coulmier is enchanted, against his own restrained nature, by a new ward at Charenton - a beautiful young woman, who has also caught the eye of the Marquis...
1. Anne

Author's Note: The scene and dialogue from the first part of this chapter are taken from a scene early in the movie, as fans w

**Author's Note: The scene and dialogue from the first part of this chapter are taken from a scene early in the movie, as fans will recognise.**

Feedback is welcome at: [miss_scarlett16@hotmail.com][1]

***

The Abbé de Coulmier pushed open the door of the Marquis de Sade's quarters, feeling his heart sink as it did a hundred times a day in similar situations. There Madeleine perched, upon the libertine old man's knee, as he read to her from his latest batch of pornographic fare. 

If she was not allowing him to pierce her mind from a distance, reading his salacious manuscripts in her own chamber, then she was stealing into his rooms to hear them, placing herself in moral danger the Abbé could not bring himself to think upon for very long.

Seeing the shock and disappointment written on the young priest's face, the girl jumped up from her precarious seat, raising her eyebrows and saying petulantly, "You're in the nick of time. This old letch forgot himself." Making for the door, she passed close by the Abbé, clearly looking to avoid another lecture. Before she could, however, he placed his hand lightly upon her narrow shoulder.

"Madeleine?"

"Yes, Abbé?"

"The next time you feel the urge to visit the Marquis, I hope you'll come to confession instead."

He hated dishing out endless admonitions to her, however essential they were for her welfare, as she persistently and rebelliously partook of the old aristocrat's writing. She was a young woman, after all, and one who might have married well by now and made a better life for herself, had circumstances not confined her to the laundry service of an asylum. Yet she remained so headstrong, and so oddly delighted by disgusting things. 

It was becoming impossible for him to reach out to her, to be her friend.

Watching the back of her head, his eyes fixed upon her lustrous red hair, he was almost deaf to the Marquis's voice behind him.

"Care for a splash of wine, Abbé?"

If he could not voice his worries to Madeleine, it may do well, he surmised, to vent them to the Marquis instead. Following the other man into his lavishly furnished chamber, the Abbé wondered at the state of his life these days. His closest friend was a writer of immoral stories, his principal daily preoccupation the safety of a laundrywoman with whom he shared only an ambiguous friendship.

Sometimes, he suspected that Madeleine believed herself to be in love with him, when she could not possibly be. Three years before, when she had been barely more than a child, she had asked him to educate her. He had been only too happy to do so. She was a sprightly, pleasant girl, a veritable ray of sunshine in the otherwise tedious, depressing innards of Charenton. 

Coulmier had always felt that his purpose in life was to help others, and to be a friend and confidant to as many people as humanly possible. His time spent with Madeleine became some of the happiest he had ever known, her delicate fingers scratching on his door, her sweet voice whispering for him to let her in so that her lessons could begin. He would share with her small quantities of wine, laughing at her sharp wit, enjoying the first real friendship he had ever known.

His feelings for her had always been loving in a purely platonic sense. He was naturally aware of her nubile, vivacious beauty, yet it would be unforgivable of him, he knew, to view her as anything other than a little sister, or even a daughter. And anyway, those feelings had never truly occurred to him when he had been with her.

He was unsure, however, when exactly the change in her had first taken place. Perhaps, as he liked to believe, it had begun as a purely natural process brought along by the advent of her womanhood. He could not, however, escape the possibility that it had been the arrival of the Marquis and his lascivious ways, which had prompted her to look at her friend the Abbé in a most unsisterly manner.

It had taken a long time for the young man to note the alteration in his companion's behaviour. Until one week, when she began arriving at her daily tutelages with her corsets a little less tightly laced, puffing out her well-developed breasts as he leaned over her to see what she had written. He cursed himself now, thinking back upon the series of small incidents, considering how little encouragement he had needed to realise her intentions.

She was sharp-tongued, true, but silly nonetheless. Their friendship was never the same. From that time on, her lessons took place outside the seclusion of his chamber. He was careful never to move his head too closely to hers, never to look too intently upon her full, sensuous lips, or to notice how soft and smooth the skin of her hands felt beneath his own. She was not a child anymore.

And for the sake of both their immortal souls, her burgeoning inclinations must never be encouraged. They were by no means in love, neither would they ever be. He had taken it as his responsibility never to allow any improprieties in their relationship to develop.

September that year was cool and crisp. This was how the Abbé preferred it, chilly days when the asylum seemed quieter, the mood more subdued, everyone more placid than usual and willing to cooperate. His job was difficult at the best of times, though always rewarding, and these still, silent days were the easiest and most pleasant of all. This morning, he lay on his back upon his bed, fortifying himself to begin his daily round of duties, when a quiet knock sounded upon his door.

The shrill, always irritable tones of Charlotte sounded through the thin wooden panels. "Abbé? You are required at the front gates. The new arrival is here."

He sighed quietly, preparing to rise. "Thank you, Charlotte. I will be out directly."

The new arrival. Even though he was well used to the process of introducing new wards to Charenton, he nevertheless always found himself steeling his constitution each and every time he had to meet with them. Stepping towards the front gates, behind which was parked a closed van drawn by two scruffy geldings, he tried to anticipate the condition of this latest, picturing another old man victimised by his advanced age, a middle-aged woman driven insane by widowhood, or a vagrant picked up for becoming a nuisance on the streets.

He prepared a friendly greeting as two guards moved to help the arrival from the back of a van. Strangely, there was no struggle, no sounds of screams as the doors were opened. The person, it seemed, was not even restrained in any way.

The Abbé's breath froze in his chest with disbelief as the guards extended their hands to take the slender arms of a beautiful young woman as she lowered herself to the ground, demurely raising her eyes to meet those of her astonished host.

A whirlwind of questions consumed him as he walked along the darkened corridor, alongside one of the guards who had accompanied Charenton's most unlikely new ward to her place of incarceration.

"Who is she?" he asked his burly companion, his voice no more than a strained whisper. 

The guard answered airily, having fully expected the question. "Her name is Anne Lenoir. Not yet twenty years old, as far as I know. She was delivered here on the request of a wealthy, much older cousin, her guardian and only living relative after her parents were guillotined. Influential people once, apparently. Their loyalties lay in the wrong place, and it was their downfall."

Coulmier swallowed as horrifying pictures sprung up in his mind. "So…she is of noble birth?"

"Yes, and very lucky indeed. This is the most benevolent fate she could have hoped for. Such was her cousin's belief, at least."

_The Marquis is now not the only blue-blooded one here, the Abbé thought to himself, unsure whether to feel reverence or pity as a result._

"So, what is her condition that she needs to be here? She behaves as though she is of an entirely sound mind."

"We know not, exactly. Our superiors thought it best not to disclose the details. All they will tell us is that she does not speak."

"Not ever?"

The guard shook his head. "Something happened, allegedly. Some great trauma. She hasn't been heard to say a single word since."

The young priest swallowed, taking his leave of the guard to begin seeing to Mademoiselle Lenoir's welfare. Minutes later, he had the fragmentary notes revealing her past in his hands and was reading them hurriedly, filled with a curiosity that he had never known. They were badly kept and written with little care for detail, he noted with some frustration, but there were still facts enough therein to make his blood run cold. The world was indeed a terrible place if such dreadful things could happen to a young girl.

For days on end, barely a sound was emitted from Anne Lenoir's quarters. The Abbé was at first relieved that she had responded so well to isolation, but then began to worry. What could she be doing in there? He recalled the scrawled notes of her 'profile', word for word. _Prone to inflicting harm upon herself. She would have access to knives with her meals. He could barely bring himself to visit her, so upset was he by the sight of an apparently healthy woman so rudely locked up from the outside world, but today, he realised, his attention would be essential._

He peered through the small opening in the door, his breath catching in his throat as he caught sight of her long pale brown hair concealing her face as it bent over what appeared to be a book in her lap. Occasionally, her breathing could be heard in the silence, as well as her tiny fingers turning the pages. The Abbé smiled, relief causing him to exhale. She read all day – that was all. 

He cast his eyes then down to the skin of her arms, looking for any sign of injury. There was none. Either that profile was outdated, or it did not belong to her at all. Her mannerisms did not suggest trauma for a moment, merely a taste for solitude and silence. His longing to understand why this cousin could possibly have placed her in a sanatorium increased. He knocked lightly upon the door.

"Mademoiselle, may I come in for a moment?"

Her head turned, though not in his direction. He heard her sniff angrily, closing her book with a loud thump. The blood rushed out of his cheeks; he wished he had not spoken.

"I apologise…If you wish to be alone, I will return later."

Anne rose from her bed, her back turned to him, before disappearing from view, shifting to the other side of her large chamber. Her movements were quick, her body short, slim and agile. There was something about her, however, which intrigued him to the point of fascination. Madeleine's mind games and attempts at tantalising him had always been met with cool rebuffs. He had no strong feelings whatsoever for the childish laundress; of that, he was absolutely certain.

He only wished that this certainty could extend to his impressions of Anne.

That evening, he prayed fervently for his own forgiveness, something he had not felt compelled to do in years. He had known Anne a matter of days, if observing her from a distance could be called knowing her, and yet already she had inspired a reaction in him he didn't dare put a name to – feelings he had believed himself to have buried forever the day he had resolved to keep Madeleine at a safe distance. 

He saw her face up close for the first time the following morning, and realised that his heart was beyond rescue. Knowing as he now did that she liked to read, he had brought a selection of novels and collections of poetry down from Charenton's library, unlocking her door and sliding them through, not daring to enter her room for dread of angering her once again. This time was slightly different.

He pushed the books across the floor with the tip of his shoe, and was startled to see her hand reach out to take them. Obviously, knowing that he had arrived to give her something, Anne had crouched down to receive whatever it was. _Quick and __clever, he thought with a smile. Closing the door, he was shocked again to see her, standing up this time, holding the edge of the splintered wood to prevent him from doing so._

Her face then popped round to look at him, and she smiled back. Part of him waited for her to speak, though as his rational side had expected, she did not. 

Coulmier was paralysed for a long moment as their eyes locked together. He had never expected – nor wanted, he was forced to admit – to find her so beautiful. Exiting the van, and being led to her quarters for the first time, she had been dishevelled and slightly dirty. Now, she wore a clean, plain grey short-sleeved dress, her lovely chestnut hair pinned up neatly. Not a trace of grime marred her pale skin, and once again, neither did any injury, self-inflicted or otherwise.

"I thought…I thought you would…" the young man stammered, sinking into her small, shrewd blue eyes. "I had seen you reading yesterday, and thought you might enjoy these from the library." He gestured down towards the books – anything not to allow her gaze to transfix him any longer.

She nodded once, pushing the door closed on him, her smile remaining. Only then did his own expression of rapt admiration fall.

He stomped back through the corridors with tears in his eyes. It was all very well being friends with a woman, as he had been with Madeleine. But to enjoy the company of one so much, as he did with Anne, was disgraceful. Not only that, she was a ward of his. He was supposed to be caring for her.

Yet, the sight of her and sensation of her presence would stay with him, he was certain. There was nothing to be done about it now.

   [1]: mailto:miss_scarlett16@hotmail.com



	2. Falling

Coulmier strode into the Marquis's quarters with shame and foreboding heavy on his heart

Coulmier strode into the Marquis's quarters with shame and foreboding heavy on his heart. De Sade had always had a sixth sense about such things as now concerned his young friend – he had known immediately when Madeleine had shared her first kiss with a stable boy, and when she had almost surrendered her virginity to that same boy. Would he guess the Abbé's feelings for Anne simply by looking at him? It was no an option for the young priest to suddenly cease visiting the old man; that would be a dead giveaway that some change had taken place.

All he could do was concentrate on putting things into perspective for himself, and behave as naturally as was possible in the company of the Marquis.

Coulmier did not knock before unlocking the door and entering; there was seldom any need to do so, as the Marquis always seemed to smell him treading the hallways before calling on him. 

"Good morning, my cherub," he greeted him from his desk, where he sat scratching upon a sheet of paper and sipping red wine from the asylum's cellar. 

"Good morning, Marquis." The Abbé perched upon a velvet-covered chair nearby, awaiting the inevitable onslaught of jibes from the old man. Strangely, none immediately came.

"Where is our darling Madeleine these days? She does not come to visit anymore. I am feeling direly neglected…"

"She should not have been visiting you anyway. You know she is an impressionable girl, and your writings cannot be beneficial to her morality."

The Marquis turned to him, smiling wryly. "Oh, my dear, you of all people, a hypocrite!" He rose from his gilt chair and began circling the young priest, a full glass of wine in his hand. 

"What do you mean?" The Abbé was unable to keep a note of panic out of his voice. "You think that I visit…"

"I _know you visit Anne Lenoir. You allow me the privilege of freedom inside this place, you also allow me to observe my fellow inmates. She's splendid, isn't she? A subdued kind of beauty, but with great…potential!" He chuckled lasciviously. "She will make a fascinating subject for my new novel, in the absence of our Madeleine."_

Coulmier stood up abruptly, confusion clouding his thoughts. He knew next to nothing of Anne, but enough to tell that she was the antithesis of Madeleine: odd, mute and imprisoned as opposed to vivacious and free. Why could the Marquis possibly be interested in her?

"You will _not write about Anne." He could barely understand why he was so angry, but his increasing sense of shame gave him some clue. He had stood by for so many months, watching as the old aristocrat got his hooks into Maddie's mind and gradually loosened her control over her body. Either Madeleine's headstrong nature, or the Abbé's too-liberal authority over the Marquis was the cause – the young man dearly hoped that it was the former, something out of his hands._

The final straw would be if the Marquis were to make Anne his latest victim. Coulmier resolved at that moment to do everything in his power to prevent that situation from arising.

"You told me to write in order to purge my mind of wicked things. Do you not wish for me to empty my thoughts of Mademoiselle Lenoir onto paper?"

The Abbé, edging his way towards the door, hardly knew what to say. It was a reasonable idea – but what if the old man were to feel the need to practice what he wrote about with the young lady herself? For the moment, he chose to take his strange friend at his word.

"Very well," he said soberly. "Write whatever you please. But you are not to approach Mademoiselle – if I find that you have, or that your work is in her possession or in wider circulation, I will revoke all of your liberties. I must leave now." Impotent anger causing his whole body to stiffen, he quickly pulled open the door and stepped through.

The Marquis laughed again. "Fear not, my darling. My intentions are not what you think. She fascinates me, yes, but her corruption will be limited strictly to the page. If you see Madeleine, do tell her to drop by. I have need of a more willing accomplice than dear Anne."

Anne's quarters seemed to draw him to her like a magnet. Over several mornings he visited her, peering through the door before knocking, never receiving any answer other than her heartrending smile. He had concocted another strategy with which to win her trust: allowing her the same freedom to walk the courtyards of the building that he sometimes afforded the Marquis, though not at the same time, of course. The girl's safety from the old man's advances had become his primary concern.

She would follow the Abbé outside the building, where he would tell her where she was allowed to walk and where was out of bounds. Then she would begin a slow progress, a book always in her hand, occasionally looking at flowers or the sky as if she had never seen them before. He waited close by, noticing with gladness that she did not seem to mind him watching her. 

One day, he asked himself why it was that he always kept an eye on her. It was not merely to protect her from harm, he now admitted. He loved her. Not the way he had loved Madeleine, either – not with brotherly protectiveness, mixed with fleeting lusts on those few dishonourable occasions. He needed to be with Anne constantly. When he was forced to be even a short distance away from her, he felt as though he were missing a limb.

Tonight, he would be offering up these sinful feelings to God as he did as often as they occurred to him. Priests were not ordained to fall in love with innocent, unsuspecting young women.

Or was she so unsuspecting?

Seated upon an iron bench, her book open in her lap, Anne frequently turned her blue eyes up to where he stood, as if reassuring herself that he had not moved. Surprised, he smiled at her, distracted from his thoughts of shame. She smiled back broadly. Tentatively, he began walking slowly towards her.

"Are you enjoying your book?" he enquired once he stood beside her, wondering whether he should presume to sit down.

This time, she did not nod or shake her head, as were her usual answers to his questions. Instead, she opened her mouth to speak.

"I am, thank you. I would like to go to the library myself when I have finished it, if you will allow me to."

Speechless, all the Abbé could do was stand, open-mouthed, for a long moment. "Anne…Mademoiselle Lenoir!"

She seemed amused. Her voice was lovelier than he could have imagined: clear and tuneful, marred only by a slight huskiness – the result of an obvious lack of usage in the past. Her accent was unmistakeably aristocratic, though without loftiness of any kind.

"They told you I do not speak, did they not? Well, I was not able to for two whole years after…then I began to once more, but not often. There simply were not many people I could speak to, until you, Abbé."

He could not suppress a smile of delight any longer. "This is wonderful! Mademoiselle Lenoir…"

"Please call me Anne, and do sit down." She gestured at the space beside her, looking demurely at her lap again as he settled beside her. 

Her closeness rendered him silent then, as he remembered what she had just said. _Until you, Abbé. Was he to be proud that he had inspired her to speak, or happy that she was at last beginning to return his friendship? _

He waited for her to speak again, though she did not, merely staring down at her book. Her speech and actions, once more and to his extreme confusion, suggested perfect sanity. Nay, _proved it. It made no sense at all. Turning his head, he caught her peering at him, and this time not looking away modestly as had become her habit whenever they made eye contact. _

She had seemed exceptionally nervous when she had first arrived at Charenton. Was this another clue as to why she was there? Anne seemed to sense the questions and turmoil within his mind, for she was smiling almost reassuringly. He almost gasped out loud when, seconds later, she reached out towards him, her dainty hand taking hold of his own.

He swallowed. "I trust you are comfortable in your rooms?"

"More than comfortable, thank you, Abbé. I feel better knowing that you look after my welfare, and I apologise for being so unpleasant when I arrived. Your friendship has helped me very much."

His heart pounded as her fingers stroked against his own. This was wrong, yet wonderful. Perhaps if it felt this right, it wasn't so sinful after all.

"I knew her kinsmen intimately, you know, Abbé."

Coulmier shivered automatically, partly out of disgust that the Marquis could be so very insensitive, and partly out of the remaining sensations Anne's touch had left coursing through him. Reluctantly, he turned towards the older man's door before he passed by it on the way to his own quarters.

"What have you got to say, then, Marquis? Please do not make any outrageous claims."

"I knew them, including that arrogant fool her father, who thought he could defy the mob and maintain his family's estate and position." He almost hissed the words, his voice thick with disgust. "I believe he maintained that conviction right until they stormed his château, cutting his son's throat before his eyes. Anne's brother was their only heir, you see, and an upstanding young man. Ironically, he was sympathetic to the idea of a Republic…" He laughed, almost manically, his eyes bulging as he indulged in his favourite pastime – telling tales.

The Abbé felt compelled to listen, as much by the mention of Anne's name as anything else. "Go on, Marquis."

"After that, her father duly went to the guillotine. That was a dark day if ever I saw one. I hated the man, but it is never a pleasant thing when two strokes of the blade are needed to do the deed."

Coulmier shivered, unsure whether to believe anything the old man said, or to regard it as another of his despicable fictions. "Then what of Anne and her mother?"

De Sade raised his eyebrows quizzically. "Your interest in her knows no bounds, I see!" He took a deep breath. "Her mother was a tremendous woman, a harlot in her youth, I hear, but who in spite of temptations proved an exemplary wife. She and Anne escaped, I believe, jumping from a back window and hiding in a village, dressed as waifs. The mistake they made was in carrying such great quantities of jewellery with them, and attempting to sell it. They chose as a potential customer none other than one of the very same mob who had disposed of their men folk."

"Is this the truth?" the young priest asked, appalled.

"It is legend, my dear, and legend is almost always based on some truth."

"But you said you knew them intimately?"

"We were acquaintances, if not for very long, before the Terror. They were true friends…I miss them terribly in these times, when a woman as lovely and as loose as Anne's mama is so difficult to find."

"I should have known you did not really care!" Coulmier spat, before calming slightly. "So what became of them after they were recaptured?"

The Marquis shrugged. The two men's faces were now inches apart, separated only by the oaken door confining the older to his chambers for the night. 

"Anne's mother soon found herself upon the scaffold, ready to join her husband and her son. The girl was luckier, or maybe not – either way she was delivered to her cousin, and then here. Are you happy now?"

"Happy? What do you mean?"

"You are troubled and tantalised by the enigma that is Anne Lenoir. Are you happy now that you have some answers to your questions?"

The young man eyed him perplexedly for a moment, before smiling. "Yes, I am. Thank you, Marquis."

Madeleine carried a basket of linens before her clumsily, trying to ignore the figure of the Abbé approaching her from the opposite direction. Soon it became impossible, however, as he greeted her cheerily, awaiting a friendly answer which was not delivered even after several seconds.

"Maddie, what's wrong? You are not yourself in recent days. Is something troubling you?"

The girl did not answer, frowning and turning away slightly, hopping from one foot to the other as if reluctant to leave.

"You know you may tell me anything. Is it the Marquis?"

She shot him an angry look then, baring her teeth. "You always blame the Marquis for my moods, don't you? Well, Abbé, this time it is you who makes me unhappy. You and that girl…"

"Maddie! You cannot possibly mean Anne? What has gotten into you?"

She smiled bitterly, nodding stiffly. "You used to be my friend. Now you ignore me for that weird girl who does nothing but read her stupid poetry all day. She does not even speak. What can you see in her?"

"I see _nothing in her! I am merely doing what I am here to do and seeing to the welfare of a ward. Madeleine, I am horrified that you would misconstrue my intentions! I see that the Marquis has been twisting your view of the world again…"_

He fell silent, seeing tears begin to fall in rivulets down her face, and was consumed afresh with remorse. He may have rejected her as a lover, and with good reason, yet in the process he had rejected her as a friend. Walking towards her, he opened his arms, hugging her tightly as she accepted his embrace.

"I am so sorry, Maddie. I never meant to neglect you. Anne and I have become friends, it is true, but I will never prefer her over you as a companion."

Coulmier could not guarantee, however, that he could stop short of falling in love with Mademoiselle Lenoir as he had with Mademoiselle LeClerc.


	3. Innocence Lost

The Arrival - Chapter 3

The Marquis laughed quietly to himself as, after the Abbé had left him in peace following his revelations of Anne's past, he pulled his latest manuscript out of a desk drawer. The idealistic and yet perceptive young man had been right to suspect that his friend's newest work dealt with Mademoiselle Lenoir's predicament, but he was wrong on another count: that her character would be another nubile little whore, subjected to every sexual perversion imaginable at the hands of some brutally domineering fellow.

Anne's fictional world, and her life with her imaginary lover, would be different. There would be the usual lashings of unmentionable acts, graphically described and celebrated in his highly original style, yet with a sensitive twist. Much as he adored Madeleine, she was good only for a strumpet or a victim; Anne was worth so much more as a heroine, and as a woman. When she wielded her power, it would be with some emotion and affection.

He surprised himself at times like these, but his reasons were good ones. It wasn't only to save his own reputation that he would stop short of publishing this particular work.

***

The Abbé crept along the corridor with a smile on his face, but also with nervousness building within him. If he were ever seen visiting Anne within her quarters, his reputation and hers would be completely destroyed. His intentions were entirely innocent, though that was understandably not quite how the rest of Charenton would view them.

As he reached her door, in a discreet little corner of the building, he did not have long to wait before her sweet voice whispered out, recognising his signal.

"François? Come in, quickly…I want to tell you something."

He unlocked the door, treading inside and smiling at her, seated upon her small bed with what looked like a letter in her lap. Placing it underneath her pillow, she peered up at him, returning his expression of greeting, before inviting him to sit beside her.

The beating of his heart would not be stilled as he stared into her face, feeling no tension at all even as they sat so close together. He had not felt this comfortable with a woman in such a long time. His priesthood unfailingly held him back, but did not stop him from being a red-blooded young man all the same, with exactly the same natural impulses as any another.

"What did you want to tell me?" he asked her, smiling wider as she gently took hold of his hand.

She looked down at his fingers entwining with her own as she spoke, her voice crackling with emotion. "It partly concerns the Marquis…"

Coulmier was instantly angered by the name coming from her, coupled with her troubled tone of voice. "What has he said to you? If he has trifled with you in any way, I will have him punished for it…"

Anne shook her head quickly. "No, he has not upset me, I merely learned from him that he has spoken to you about me. He brings me books, you see, and talks to me, though he is not such a close friend of mine as you are." She leaned over to kiss her companion's cheek, making him sigh inaudibly. 

"I see…then what bothers you, my dear?"

"I want you to hear of what happened to me and my family _from me. The Marquis is not so bad a man as people say, I suspect, but I would understand if he has distorted the truth."_

"Then go on."

"…My mother and I were not in our home when the mob came, murdered my brother and took my father away. We do not even know when, or if, he was guillotined at all. We had been stranded within the château for months beforehand, fearing for our lives after we heard of the executions of the king and queen. Our riches had been squandered through bribing others to protect us and whatnot. My mother and I were returned home from selling our jewels when we saw Jean dead on the floor and my father tied up. Then the mob captured us…"

Her voice trailed off, and for one awful moment, the Abbé feared that the horror of her memories had caused her to lose her speech once more.

"My dear, you do not have to tell me any more…"

"But I must!" She straightened her back and took a deep breath, strengthening herself to continue. "They used our house as a kind of headquarters for a while…I lost track of how long. They took my mother away after a week or so, to the guillotine, I expect. The Marquis claimed to have witnessed both my parents' executions."

Her friend felt his blood boiling again. "He had no right to tell you that."

"But you do not understand. I am glad that he did! I need some suggestion as to what truly happened to them, if I am ever to sleep soundly again, the same as I need to tell you of my past now. The mob kept me for weeks after that as their prisoner, telling their peers that I was dead along with the rest of my kin." She saw the expression of devastation on the Abbé's face, and smiled and stroked his face. "You need not worry, for none of them laid a finger upon me. They took greater pleasure from torturing me mentally, telling me they would use me, beat me and subject me to every brutality possible. But they never did."

"Thank God!" Coulmier exclaimed quietly, tears in his eyes as he looked at her, longing to take her in his arms. But their relationship had not progressed as far as embraces yet, and neither of them knew if it ever would. The Abbé, for one, did not like to think of what holding Anne may lead to, judging by how inflamed the mere touch of her hands and her lips left him. So much more was at stake on his side of their connection – so many things he did not like to think of.

He did not want to leave her quarters, but knew that he had to before his absence from his other places of duty was noted. A priest's schedule used up so much time on business, leaving little time for pleasure. But then perhaps that was because a priest was not expected, nor advised, to ever dabble in pleasurable things.

He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling of his spacious bedchamber, unable no matter how hard he tried to cast the thought of Anne from his mind. He marvelled at how much composure and confidence she had gained since being at Charenton, as the usual effect of incarceration upon those of weaker character was to drive them even further into the realms of fear and confusion. She was so resilient and passionate beneath the lovely surface, that she had been spared this fate, he was certain.

He smiled into the darkness, remembering the feel of her mouth against his cheek and the sound of her voice, and wondering that he had been the only one to have experienced them in such a long time.

Reading his religious books no longer had any effect upon him; trying to concentrate upon concepts not of this earth was hopeless now. He felt fully rooted to this world and the people around him, especially one in particular. The more he tortured himself, the more the sheets around him stuck to his bare skin with perspiration, and the more he needed to see her once again. It did not occur to him that it was the middle of the night, and that in all likelihood, she would be sleeping.

The halls of the asylum usually echoed, so he moved slowly out of his own rooms and towards her own. Peering through the opening in her door, he saw her leaning against the wall beside her bed, smiling at him, enraptured.

"I had a feeling you would come back!"

"And why was that?" he replied jovially, gently closing her door behind him and moving to stand opposite her.

"Because I swear I can feel it when you are restless. I know when you are idle during the day and will come to see me. I know when you are simply bored out of your mind with everyone else and will come to see me…"

He laughed. "No one understands me like you do, Anne." Turning away to face her bookshelf, he thought of how true that statement really was.

In such a short time, she had built up an impressive collection. He scanned the spines of the many editions, old and knew, searching for any of the Marquis's work thrown in. Much as he reluctantly accepted that the old aristocrat's intentions in supplying Anne with reading material were probably honourable, he still did not trust him completely. Thankfully, de Sade's name was nowhere in sight.

Having breathed a sigh of relief, Coumier froze suddenly, feeling Anne's fingertips trailing across the back of his neck. This time, her touch was not at all friendly, but unmistakeably amorous. In spite of what would have been his better judgement, had it been Madeleine or another woman doing it, he allowed himself to enjoy the feeling, closing his eyes before turning gradually to face her.

Her touches turned to firmer strokes as he moved, and soon their faces were inches apart, her hands locked around his neck. She licked her lips, her eyes fixed upon his, as her eyebrows drew together with confusion.

"François, you must tell me…is it wrong of me to feel these things for you?"

Giving in to the first of many long-held urges, he wrapped his arms about her waist, pulling her hips against his and letting her arms tighten around his shoulders. "No, not at all…as long as the man and woman love one another and want to stay together forever, there is no sin in feeling this way."

She smiled broadly, bringing her lips close to his, so that they brushed together. "So…you love me as much as I love you?"

"Oh, yes!" Without another word, he pressed his mouth to hers ardently, letting his hands wander around her body the way he had wanted to for so long. This was it, this was passion, all the acts he had vowed never to perform and yet was about to. Anne pulled him down onto her bed so that his weight lay on top of her, gasping as she helped him remove her nightdress, and moaning as he kissed her breasts and stomach, pulling his own clothes away at the same time.

As they lay naked together, their eyes feasted upon each other's secret places, before Coulmier gazed into his lover's face and kissed her again, making her sigh loudly by rubbing her tongue with his, his hands stroking every inch of her skin he could reach. Against her thigh, his organ grew and throbbed with desire. He smiled down at Anne as, wiping the tears of pleasure from beneath her eyes, he shifted himself in between her legs so that his flesh grazed the centre of her womanhood.

He placed a finger to her lips, which she kissed and bit lightly, her passionate gaze seeming to beg him to make love to her at last.

"We must be quiet, my darling," he panted, "Though it will be difficult, for me especially. This old place echoes."

"I do not care who knows how much you please me!" She pulled his face down to her own, muffling any protests with another fierce kiss, as with one movement he entered her and began thrusting gently. The rest of Charenton, and indeed the world, no longer existed to them. They were together, consummating their love, and silently making promises to one another that nothing would ever bring them to break. ****


	4. The Affair

The Arrival - Chapter 4

The dark, advancing autumn brought with it delayed sunrises, but nevertheless the most part of asylum's population woke early. Tucked up together in Anne's narrow bed, the Abbé and his lover had not slept a wink all night. The young woman curled her long legs around his, breathing languidly against his bare chest, and groaning loudly when the sound of the other patients' shouting sounded from the rest of the building.

"I would you could remain here with me all day," she said quietly, propping herself up on one elbow to face him, "But you have a job to return to, my love."

He kissed her, sighing with reluctance as he extricated himself from the warmth of her bed and her embrace to do just that. His alibi was already prepared – should anyone question why he was up and about so early, he had developed insomnia. It was not a total lie; he had, after all, been profoundly unable to sleep.

She gazed up at him, wide-eyed with admiration and renewed lust for his body as he started to dress swiftly. Impulsively, she grabbed hold of one of his hands and pressed it to her lips, clutching tightly his slender white fingers.

"Your hands are too beautiful for words," she gushed, ignoring his expression of bewilderment mixed with adoration. "The first time you touched me with them, I thought I would faint…François, how I love you!"

Wearing only his undershirt, he fell down to his knees to hold her close again, burying his face in her soft, abundant hair, trying to absorb her scent and the life within her. After a long moment, he unwillingly pulled away.

"And how I love you, my Annie…" He kissed her one last time, still unable to believe that she had loved him as long as he had loved her, and that she was finally his, body and soul. It was with a heavy heart, and a promise to be with her again that night, that he finally snuck out of her room and crept back to his own, unseen.

The Marquis was a sharp as ever when it came to detecting the change in his dumpling's life, several mornings later.

"You look tired, darling. Could it be that someone has been keeping you awake, at long last?"

Coumier feigned irritation at the question, but could not conceal his guilt for very long. His eyes felt hot and blurry, and his head was pounded with fatigue. It was true: he looked terrible, having spent each night of the previous week wide awake, enveloped in Anne's loving arms, only leaving her bed in the small hours of the morning, when it became feasible that he might be discovered.

Yet he had never in his life been this happy, or satisfied. What happened between the pair of them was not the dirty, sordid sex the Marquis wrote so copiously about – their lovemaking was a concept a world away, so tender and pure that the young man no longer felt any remorse whatsoever about breaking his long-held priestly vows. He now understood for certain that God could only be pleased that he had fallen so deeply in love, and made that wonderful young woman's life finally worth something again.

"Well, François? Tell me everything." The Marquis took a quill out of an inkpot on his antique desk and sat before it, ready to write.

The Abbé grimaced and snatched up the writing implement from the other man's hand. "You will not write about me or her. We will not be characters in your pornography; what we have is far too untainted to suit your pages. And _you may not call me by my Christian name, either."_

The old aristocrat smiled sardonically. "Now, now, my dear, there is no need to be ashamed. You have been so cheerful of late, so relaxed. Even kinder than usual. Except, of course, to your former love Madeleine."

"What are you talking about? I have never been in love with Maddie! I do love her, though not in the way you would like to think. She is only a child…she has so much to learn of this world. Anne has seen things that have made her mature beyond her years. We understand each other, you see, Marquis."

The older man was touched by the manner in which Coulmier still confided in him, when he had every reason never to trust him at all. "And why is that, my cherub?"

He paused for a moment, closing his eyes. "I, too, was an orphan of the Terror."

The Marquis looked him sombrely in the face. "Oh, but I already knew that about you. I always sensed the nobility in your blood, in your movements, your voice, everything about you. Have you told Anne?"

He shook his head. "I must choose the moment."

"Good. Very considerate of you. But do not think you can stop me from writing about Anne and yourself, for I already have."

The look the young priest gave him was one of heartbreak. 

"…Though I will not publish, or even circulate. No one will ever see this particular novella, for even should I want to distribute it, our Madeleine has assured me, in no uncertain terms, that she will never advocate me."

"Madeleine…but…she believes I have rejected her for Anne, does she not?"

"She does. Yet I believe that part of her understands you, and wishes to remain faithful. For in helping me to publish the story of your antics with Mademoiselle Lenoir, she would not only be destroying dear Anne, but you also. That, she does not desire to do."

Coulmier was shocked, but touched at the same time. His brotherly affection for Maddie had never wavered, even as he had courted Anne. He had sorely missed her chaste hugs, kisses and playful conversation in recent days. Thanking the Marquis for listening to his troubles, he walked slowly into the corridor, realising that the situation with the skittish laundress had to be cured as soon as was possible.

***

Madeleine knelt on the floor before the door to Anne's quarters, longing to shout out some vicious comments to the other girl, but finding herself unable to do so, for precisely the same reason she had earlier chastised the Marquis for writing naughty stories about the Abbé and his new friend. François was her dearest friend, even as she hated his consorting with this obvious whore.

If she could even call Anne a whore. The classification was highly doubtful. Maddie knew that the Abbé was sharing Anne's bed – it was she, Madeleine, after all, who changed the other girl's sheets, and even in her artlessness she knew what it signified when suddenly they became a lot more crumpled and damp than usual. Anne had made love with a priest, which would ordinarily have meant damnation for both of them. But the Abbé de Coulmier was no ordinary man of God. 

He was liberal, resourceful, and endlessly sensitive to the plight and emotions of others. Any time Maddie had felt the weight of the world upon her young shoulders, he had welcomed her into his gentle arms, his voice soothing her as she cried against his chest. He always encouraged her to be completely honest with him. Moreover, proof undeniable of his broad-minded, unconditional kindness and patience was in his genuine friendship with the Marquis.

The only possible occasion that could have made him break his vows of chastity was if he had fallen hopelessly and completely in love with Anne Lenoir. Because of this knowledge, Maddie's jealousy had been short-lived. There was no way she could attempt to destroy Anne, for fear of destroying the Abbé as well.

Madeleine too knew how it felt to be in love.

Through the small notch at the foot of Anne's door, she fed fresh sheets inside, knowing bitterly that later that night _his exquisite body would be tumbling upon them with a woman other than she. _

She almost jumped out of her skin when she heard Mademoiselle Lenoir's quiet voice.

"Mademoiselle LeClerc? Are you still there?"

"…I am, Anne. Is something…wrong?"

From the tone of the girl's next words, Maddie could tell that she was smiling.

"No, nothing. You are surprised that I can speak, I know. Well, I do not, usually. I only speak to my friends…or those with whom I would like to be friends."

Maddie's could not help but grin with surprise and fascination. Perhaps the girl was not as strange as had at first seemed apparent – perhaps Madeleine LeClerc had finally met her match.

***

Coulmier was to remain ignorant, for the time being at least, that his dear friend and his lover had begun a tentative camaraderie between themselves. When dusk fell over Charenton, over a month after the first night he and Anne had slept together, all he could think about was being with her again. The stolen kisses they shared during the day were no longer enough. He constantly craved the sensation of pressing his body down on top of hers, pulling her as close to him as he possibly could. 

Beneath her quiet aloofness lay an exoticism that she saved for him alone, and which excited him beyond belief. And beneath her drab clothes lay a body so beautiful he could not bare to be far from it for even a few hours. 

Once finally within her quarters, the silent stillness of the night closing the rest of the world out, he went automatically into her open arms, his fingers creeping upwards to loosen the ties of her dress. She, on the other hand, did not seem so eager.

"What can be wrong, my precious?" he murmured, his lips pressing into the soft, warm flesh of her throat.

"Nothing awful, just something I feel I must tell you." She pulled her head away, looking intently into the soulful green gaze she could never resist. 

"Of course." Still enfolded in one another's arms, they sat down together. Coulmier sighed with enjoyment as Anne trailed her lips across his jaw line and ran a hand along his thigh, before stopping to begin her latest confession.

"I spoke with the Marquis this evening. At the play we put on…"

"Oh, Annie," he groaned, stopping her short. "I asked you not to take part in the theatre! It is no place for a lady, and in any case…I knew he would approach you. He has a taste for young beauties, but he shall not corrupt you. He shall not…"

"He did not attempt to corrupt me! As I told you, he is not such a bad man as people speculate."

"But his writings…"

"How one writes and how one behaves are two different things!" Anne exclaimed, her tone more zealous than he had ever heard it. "He offered me his friendship. You are his friend, are you not?"

The Abbé cradled her sweet head on his shoulder, kissing her silken hair. "I understand, darling. I will not be hypocritical, but do take care if you will insist on keeping his company. You are my innocent little pearl, and I intend to keep you in that condition."

She pulled herself up to a kneeling position beside him, smiling mischievously before kissing him ardently, driving her tongue in between his lips. "Innocent? You call me innocent? I haven't been innocent since you first ravished me with those eyes and with these hands…" 

Seconds later, they were making love more passionately than ever, fighting the need to scream out their shared pleasure as the rest of the old building slept soundly, never to know that their beloved Abbé no longer practised the abstinence that he preached.


	5. New Life

The Arrival - Chapter 5

In the hateful weak light of early morning, when François would leave her bed and her rooms to return to his other love, his work, Anne Lenoir would secretly be glad that he consequently missed the other feature of her morning that made her so unhappy. For a week or two, she had tried to tell herself that the sickness was the result of the Charenton chef's inability to cook a chicken correctly, before the failure of her monthly bleed to arrive had assured her differently.

When the urge to vomit took her, she held it in with all her strength, but could seldom manage to contain it for long before she retched over her wash bucket, caught in an agony of indecision and dread.

Part of her was elated to be pregnant by the man whom she loved so dearly. However, she was not a naïve woman, as was sweet, silly Madeleine. Unless, by some miracle, she could be François's wife and have them live as a proper family, her condition would soon mean disaster for them both. She would be cast out of her sanctuary as a strumpet and a liability. Her dearest one would lose his precious vocation, and surely never forgive her. 

When he was not beside her in her bed, she would lie alone, crying herself to sleep, wondering as her heart gradually broke what was to become of the three of them, when all was lost. She could not even voice her fears to François, so deluded would she become when he made love to her, that all might possibly work out for the best.

His touch now left her in both ecstasy and pain, as his thick black hair brushed against her stomach, unknowing as he was that his own child lay nestled therein. Disguising her weeping as gasps of pleasure, she would resist desperately the urge to tell him the truth, unwilling to shatter the orb of joy that still survived around them.

***

"Maddie?" she uttered quietly to the spry chambermaid as she sauntered past her door. "Would you bring me something?"

The other girl turned, a somewhat forced smile of greeting already in place. "Of course I will. What do you need, Annie?"

"I need some parchment, ink, and quills. Could you please fetch them for me?"

Madeleine frowned quizzically. She had known Anne to read like nobody's business, but write? The only ward of Charenton she knew to enjoy such a pastime was the Marquis. But she was certainly prepared to assist the girl in doing whatever would make her happy, as she had already proved.

"Certainly, Annie. I will bring them with your supper. What, may I ask, do you require them for?"

"I feel like I have read enough by now. I think I shall begin writing."

Maddie smiled, wondering curiously what the Abbé would make of his love's new hobby. She gathered he would be pleased, just so long as her works were not as bawdy as those of his other peculiar friend.

***

Coulmier lay on his back, his eyes closed, savouring the warmth and gentle pressure of Anne's kisses trailing across his chest and stomach. After a few delicious moments of her lingering there, she settled her weight over his body, curling her petite arms around his neck and sucking on his lower lip, while at the same time his own arms stretched out above his head and beneath her pillow. He frowned as he felt what was most definitely a small paperback book, hidden together with a multitude of loose sheets of parchment.

"Darling…" he murmured, breaking away from her caress. "What are these things underneath your pillow? May I see?"

"No," she said, almost urgently, taking hold of his wrists firmly. "You needn't. Those are merely letters from my cousin. I prefer to keep them private."

"What about the book?"

"Just something I was reading before you visited me. I get so bored, and read so many books these days, that I need some way to remember which one I started last."

Her lover smiled up at her, moaning quietly as she returned her lips and tongue to his chest. "Am I to find some way to come to you during the day to alleviate that boredom? Because as much as I would like to, I fear it would be impossible."

Anne froze, in the midst of positioning herself above his body so that he might take her completely. Impossible, much like any hope they might have of leaving Charenton together, going on to lead normal lives as husband and wife, and parents to the innocent babe she now carried.

"Sweetheart?" François panted, pushing his hips against hers, the need to enter her overwhelming him like the most unbearable kind of hunger.

"No…" she whimpered suddenly, rolling from on top of him and pulling the thin sheets around her body, pent-up tears beginning to spill down her face.

"Oh, my darling." He wrapped his arms tightly around her, feeling her sadness like a knife in his heart. "What is it? Please tell me!"

"This cannot last!" she wept bitterly, the pillow beneath her head already soaked from her crying. "We will be separated eventually, for certain. But I never want to be apart from you! You are my whole world!"

"And you are mine!" Yet, the Abbé was forced to be silent then. He was not an idiot – he had known as well as Anne knew that, should they continue making these clandestine liaisons, sooner or later both their lives would be ruined. His superiors in the asylum and the church would never view their relationship as the genuine love that it was – to them it would be a repugnant case of a man of God abusing a defenceless girl he had been trusted to care for. Who knew what terrible variety of punishment would be meted out to him, or more importantly, what unthinkable fate would befall his Anne?

Her gleaming chestnut tresses shimmered in the moonlight as she turned to face him, stroking his cheek. "What will we do?"

Coulmier succumbed to his own fear then, breaking down into tears he had never meant for her to see. They both wept then, terrified, locked into each other's arms. The Abbé wondered himself, every minute that they were apart, what he could possibly do to rescue them both from malign fate. Neither of them had substantial economic wealth or possessions to improve their situation, and in any case, it was not _his place to remove her from her incarceration._

Still, Anne could not bring herself to tell him that she expected his child.

The few days following that night of fears and revelations were a living nightmare for the Abbé. He could no longer concentrate on his work, to the extent that even the most listless patients of Charenton noticed how much less lively he was, and his depression easily rubbed off on them. Consequently, it was a black week for all the dwellers of the asylum.

Several times, he caught himself longing for someone to infuriate him so that he could take his anger and frustration out on somebody else. This frightened him; he had never in his life been temperamental. Even his father had mused out loud that his youngest and least beloved son had the patience of a saint. This decline into perpetual resentment of everything and anything had to be stopped. He needed someone, if not to give him advice, then merely to listen to him.

"I really don't know why you continue to come to me, although I do adore your company as always, dear heart!" 

Coulmier waved his hand to refuse the Marquis's offer of a glass of wine. He had indulged in far too many sinful pleasures of late; he did not need to add to the list.

"I have no idea what to do. I love her so much the feeling scares me sometimes. I want to be free with her, so that I may keep her and love her forever."

"My darling, this is love's first flush – it will pass with time. What you are left with is an encumbrance whom, however much you once treasured and desired her, you cannot help but resent. It is always the way."

The young priest looked into the older man's face, noticing, unsurprised, the sudden hard set of the Marquis's mouth and the cynical glint in his eyes. He was thinking of Renée, his Marquise, no doubt, and the none-too-pleasant memories he nursed of the tempestuous recent years of their marriage.

"But Anne is not merely a lover and a friend, as I believe most wives originally are to their husbands. She is part of my soul, like the final piece of the jigsaw that makes up my being – all I needed to awaken me to what life really is."

The Marquis chuckled with thinly-veiled adoration of his youthful friend. "My dearest poet, you really must take up the quill sometime."

The Abbé smiled with gratitude at the other man, rising to leave in one graceful movement. "Thank you for your time, Marquis."

"You are more than welcome, my dumpling."

Outside in the chilly corridor, Madeleine had clearly been waiting for him. "Good morning, Abbé," she said, her normally lively voice somewhat lifeless.

"Why, good morning, Maddie!" He could hardly contain his genuine happiness to see her, placing a hand on her shoulder, then taking it away as she visibly twitched.

She cast her wide eyes this way and that, making her discomfort clear. "I wanted to apologise to you for something I did."

He frowned, his frustration rising. "You have nothing to apologise for! It is I who should apologise – I have not been around for you as I should have, and I am sorry. Your friendship is irreplaceable."

As tears filled her watery blue gaze, he noticed with shock how grey her usually rosy skin had become. Had she been as anxious as he had?

"Thank you, Abbé…but there is something else. You must know that Annie has been…unhappy, lately. Well, it is my fault. I did something malicious not long ago and I cannot tell you how guilty I feel."

"Wait, Maddie…I have some questions. I was certain you did not like Anne, after she and I became close."

"I didn't like her. I thought she was a whore. But now I know that you love her, and that she loves you, and I am happy for you both. Now she and I are friends. I see some of what you find so delightful in her company."

Coulmier smiled broadly, overjoyed, before remembering the other question he had wanted to ask. "So what could you have done that was so malicious?"

Madeleine swallowed. "I wanted to upset her…badly. So I took a copy of something the Marquis had written, and gave it to her along with some other books from the library. I knew what she was like with books; I also knew that she and the Marquis had become acquainted, if only briefly. I gathered she would be devastated to read his work and see what he was so infamous for."

"Oh, Madeleine! I am…very disappointed in you, but I am glad that you and Anne have become friends." He stroked the loose strands of soft red hair down the side of her face, making her smile. "Anyway, you must not worry, for it was not that which has upset her. These are difficult times."

The girl rested her head against his shoulder as he opened his arm to her. She still wished more than anything that he would hold her this way, every night in bed, the way he held Anne. Though she had tried to stop herself from dreaming of what it must be like to make love with him, and what the man beneath the cassock must look and feel like, still the dreams returned, like a reflex. Like her tortured heartbeat, minute after minute.


	6. The Escape

The Arrival - Chapter 6

The next day, the Abbé and Madeleine found a way to at least _try and distract themselves from the memory of their awkward encounter the previous day. In Charenton's large study, the young chambermaid, more taciturn than she had ever been in her life, sat at the table scratching at a piece of paper with a quill, as her dearest friend leaned over her shoulder, speaking softly. Try as they might, however, neither could concentrate on the arithmetic he was trying to teach her. _

"You must be bored with me," she said, after a particularly long and uncomfortable silence. "What with Anne being so much cleverer than I am."

Coulmier sighed, exasperated. "You are every bit as intelligent as Anne. There are many things about Anne you cannot know, many secrets."

Maddie gazed up at him, her eyes brimming once more. "I know, and I am sorry. I don't mean to be so petulant, it's just that…well, I love you, Abbé."

He felt a catch at his heart, looking at the girl who had been his closest companion other than the Marquis since he had first taken his post at Charenton. "I love you too. You know I always have."

She stroked his hand as it lay on the table beside her own. "I do know. And I will always remember how kind you have been to me, after you and Annie make your way out into the world."

He frowned at her curiously confident expression. "I doubt we will ever do that. But…I should not be burdening you with our troubles."

Turning to look him squarely in the eye, Maddie said with determination, "Then think of it as unburdening yourself. Please, Abbé."

He exhaled, his breathing laboured. "I can hardly believe I am saying this out loud, but I'm ready to renounce my priesthood and be her husband. I want her forever, Maddie. Do you understand?" Despite the maturity she was now displaying before him, he could not help but continue to treat her as a child.

Madeleine could barely contain her sense of relief. For during the last fortnight, the stains she had found on Anne's bed sheets – the marks of the Abbé's greatest expression of love, had not worried her half as much as the stains she did _not find. She had no idea yet, however, whether the young man knew that he was shortly to be a father, deigning to leave it up to Anne to tell him first._

"Tell me what you are thinking, Madeleine, my dear. I promise I will not do anything without your blessing first."

"I think you must take her as your wife, because if you do not...you'll end up with many regrets."

He bowed his fine head and crossed the room heavily, sitting down in the corner upon a gilt chair. "There is no way."

"Perhaps there is. I could help you."

Wide eyed, he opened his mouth to challenge her, but unable to once she cut him short.

"Abbé, you _will get out of this place, and I know how. I've been in Charenton as long as I can remember – I know it like the back of my hand. I've already told Annie I will help. Discuss it with her when you see her."_

With that, Maddie scurried out of the room, leaving Coulmier sitting open-mouthed with astonishment, but also with the first rays of hope in these strange days.

The time had come to bid Charenton farewell for good. The young former Abbé folded his cassock and other priestly garments and abandoned them inside his quarters, wiping away tears of sadness that, if all went well tonight, he would never return again. 

Madeleine had assured him, time and again since they had first discussed this plan of escape, that it was infallible. He had neglected to ask her why she was so confident, but trusted her nevertheless. She had always been plucky, guarding her own reputation expertly when she slipped into his quarters sometimes to say goodnight, or escaping punishment so many times when sneaking into the larder to retrieve a midnight snack.

He would miss her terribly, he knew, every day of his life to come, even when he was able to spend every waking moment with his Anne.

***

Maddie shivered in the chill air of the winter's night, pulling her shawl tighter around herself, hoping that the dark cloth she had tied around her head would conceal her identity should she be seen. She had successfully stolen the keys to the asylum's main doors as well as those to the front gates, thanks to Coulmier lending her his access to the main office containing these precious items. She would return them later that night, after she had said her final goodbyes to him and Anne.

Her rubber-soled slippers allowed her to creep through the hallways to Anne's room in almost complete silence. She had agreed for Maddie to lead her away at this time to meet with her beloved, so that then they might take their last leave of Charenton, perhaps then to hide in some obscure little village until such a time as they were able to leave France and begin new lives altogether. That was their ultimate dream, as Anne had imparted to her. 

Approaching Anne's room, she tried not to picture all the times her beloved young priest had moved this very same way, to join her inside her bed when Madeleine had so dearly wished that he would transfer his affections to her. Now was too late to feel any regrets; she had a duty to perform.

It seemed that their success would be delayed, however, because as Maddie peered through the partition in Anne's door, she saw that the other girl was not there.

Coulmier's panic flashed through his lovely green eyes as Maddie told him of Anne's disappearance.

"Where can she be?" he demanded, pacing back and forth, oblivious to the fact that even now, Madeleine was admiring how handsome he looked in the clothes of an ordinary young man, and not one bound to the service of the church.

"I don't know. Her door was left unlocked for some reason. All I can think of is that she has already attempted to leave."

"I shall go and look for her. If you see her, tell her to wait for me near the front gates, and beg her not to get caught." He brandished his set of spare keys, the only souvenir of Charenton he would take with him.

"I will. Now, go, please!" 

He smiled, despite his anxiety, and took her in his arms, giving her the warmest, most unrestrained hug he ever had. "For as long as I live, Madeleine LeClerc, I will never, ever forget you or what you have done for us tonight."

She gazed at him, when at last he let her go, longing for him to kiss her, just once. A real, loving kiss, the kind of which she had never experienced.

"I love you," she said, her voice a strained whisper.

"I love you too," he replied, and then, as if he had read her mind, he pressed his lips to hers, giving her one full kiss, and then pulling away just as quickly. He smiled reassuringly, stroking her hair gently.

"Go!" she ordered him, giggling to belie her devastation that he was leaving her. She stared at him as he turned, running down the darkened corridor, turning occasionally to smile at her again. Only when he was completely out of sight did she let the tears come, flowing freely down to her lips still numb from the touch of his.

Her steps slow and lethargic, she scouted around for Anne, not daring to shout out her name for fear of waking all of the building. Coming near to the door of the Marquis's quarters, she thought she heard a woman's voice coming from nearby, but dismissed the sound as her grief playing tricks on her.

She thought she might jump out of her skin when, seconds later, Anne's short, slender figure appeared from the darkness as she walked the opposite way, a broad smile cutting her face in two.

"Annie! Where have you been? Surely not to the Marquis…"

The other girl took a few steps towards her before speaking in a low, conspiratorial tone. "Yes, to the Marquis. I couldn't very well leave without saying goodbye to my father. Anyway, I had a gift for him."

Dumbstruck, all Madeleine could do was gawp for a moment before croaking, "Your father? The Marquis?"

Anne nodded once, matter-of-factly. Maddie could not, however, deny that it made perfect sense: her short, slim stature, her sharp blue eyes, her perceptiveness and penchant for writing, even her love for the Abbé. The old aristocrat must have shared with her that story he had written about her, and told her then. So that had been his plan all along.

Her thoughts were interrupted suddenly as Anne gave her a sisterly hug, kissing her cheek. "Thank you so much, Madeleine. You are truly an angel. We will write to you, when our firstborn arrives."

"Erm…well, your firstborn's father is waiting for you at the gates. Goodbye, Annie. I will miss you."

Winking at her friend, Anne turned and walked quickly away, her long hair catching the shafts of candlelight emanating from the stick Maddie carried.

On the pretence of delivering extra linens to the Marquis, she visited him first thing the next morning, her mind afire with questions even through the headache her sleepless night had afforded.

As far as she knew so far, their plan had gone perfectly, and Anne and the former Abbé of Charenton were now far away from this place, beginning a blissful new life together as husband and wife, and soon-to-be parents. All that was left to happen was for Dr Royer-Collard to discover the young lovers' letter, storm around for a little while, and then find a replacement for Coulmier so that their lives could go on as normally as was possible in the circumstances. Madeleine was confident that she had covered her own tracks well enough.

She smiled, hearing the Marquis turning the pages of a makeshift book in his hands and laughing at his daughter's writings. Knocking quietly at the door, she waited for him to invite her inside and share in his pride.

"Come in, my coquette, come in, and sit down." 

"I take it she's a chip off the old block, then!" Maddie laughed, sitting on a low stool and staring at Anne's peaky handwriting, so much like her father's, on the pages as the Marquis dropped them before him, one by one.

"Ah, indeed. I had a terrible feeling she would turn into a nervous, idiotic wench like her mother, but it seems fate was on our side. This is wondrous – I dare say she puts even her papa's exquisite prose to shame."

The laundress let a moment or two pass before asking the crucial question. "Were you as pleased with her choice of mate?"

The Marquis looked up from the pages of his child's literary debut, a wistful but contented look on his haggard face. "I was absolutely delighted that she chose my beautiful dumpling." He grinned impishly. "And even more delighted that he found his sexual awakening in her precious arms."

_End_


End file.
